When All the Rest of Us Are Dead
by Evening Starbossa
Summary: Single-chapter interpretation of the movie's black-and-white scenes, from Madame Giry's POV.  This is in no way connected to any of my other POTO stories.


**A/N: This is just a short interpretation of the black and white scenes in the movie. From Madame Giry's POV. I do not own "Phantom of the Opera" or any of it's characters.**

** I have been **listening to the auctioneer for hours now, watching various pieces of my life being sold for far less than they are worth. At least to me. This time tomorrow, I will be eighty-nine years old. Seventy of those years were spent here at the Opera Populaire, as both a ballerina and as a ballet mistress. The dancing is what has kept me in good health, I imagine. At least that is the only reason I can come up with. Oh, yes, my great-grandchildren do keep me on my toes, but their visits are only temporary. I cannot blame them or their parents. After all, what would little children find in a run-down opera house outside of danger? True enough that most of the dormitories were spared from the fire all those years ago, else I would not have been able to stay here. My quarters especially are all intact, and I can only hope that that is what my old friend intended. Sadly, those rooms are cluttered with so many things collected over the years that my family stays only for tea before taking their leave soon after. And that is only once or twice a month.

I cannot say that my dear Marguerite didn't try her hardest to get me to leave the place. "Mama, I just don't understand why you would want to stay _here_ of all places. Memories are one thing, but there's nothing _left._" She always says this when she visits. I do not argue, but I do not agree either. It pains me how short her visits are. Once upon a time, she stuck to me like glue. Or was it the other way around? Ah, I was just doing my job as a mother, protecting her as I did. Now that she has children of her own, I would hope that she understands at least that much. I suppose, however, that once she fell in love...once she got a taste of life on her own outside the opera house, she simply embraced her new independence and never looked back.

My thoughts areinterrupted as the sound of a wheelchair enters the room. As I turn, I recognize Raoul immediately. Still, it shocks me at how much he's aged, especially since Christine's death two years ago. He must feel my eyes on him, for he turns his head to face me. I wonder why he is here. After the fire, Christine persuaded him to remove his patronage. Nothing against us, she insisted. I knew something had happened between them and Erik that night, but no one would say a word, and so I just left it at that.

As the next item is announced, I am once again forced to turn my attention back to the stage. The item is all too familiar to me. I do not need to hear the auctioneer's description, nor hear the music. It is the monkey toy. _His_ monkey toy. It was the only possession he brought with him to the opera house...his one form of security other than his masks. Ah, Erik...my dear old friend. All those years ago, I felt that just hiding him and being his messenger was enough of a good deed. I should have known better. Yes, he did need those things, but what he needed most was someone to love him, mask or no mask. It was something I nor Christine could ever give him, but it was what he truly longed for.

At least he had his music. It all started with this simple monkey toy and two tiny cymbals. And yet, he had left it behind in his caverns, just waiting to be found. I simply must have it. All those other things that are being sold are dust bunnies compared to this. I place a bid, but it appears I am not the only one who wants it. Raoul is fighting me for it. I wonder what value the monkey could possibly have for him. But then, perhaps Christine had laid eyes on it on one of her visits into the caverns. I cannot bear it anymore. Raoul is still grieving. I let him have the monkey. As it is placed in his hands, I notice a tear trickle down his face. I know I did the right thing.

The auctioneer then turns our attention to the chandelier behind us. It is covered up, having recently undergone some much needed repair. I feel like laughing at the auctioneer's introduction. Of course I remember the events surrounding the infamous Phantom of the Opera! But no, I silently stand aside while the beautiful chandelier is sold, the final treasure of this auction. I realize that I did not buy anything, but it is just as well. I have far too many things cluttering up my quarters as it is.

I follow the crowds outside, watching Raoul being helped into his automobile. Our farewell is silent and through his window. I have a feeling that he is going to the cemetery, but I cannot be certain. The wind picks up then, and so I slowly make my way back into the opera house. It is about time for supper, and then I plan on retiring early.

As I am finishing my meager meal, my daughter bursts through the door. Tears are streaming down her face. "Mama! Oh, Mama!"

"Goodness, child, what is it? What has happened?"

"It's Erik." That is all Meg needs to say. I quickly abandon my plate and follow her to her carriage. Her husband had never grown fond of the new automobile. As we travel, Meg explains. "I had a feeling something was going to happen today, from the moment I woke up. He was paler than usual. He tried to hide it from me, but I knew. He spent some time locked in his study. I kept listening for his violin, but he never played. And then..." I pull Meg closer into my embrace as a new flood of tears falls down her face. She catches her breath and continues. "This afternoon, he said he had an errand to run. I protested, of course. He has not been in the best health lately. But you know Erik. He would not listen. He just ignored my tears. He simply hugged and kissed me good bye and said he'd be back soon. Mama, that was hours ago!"

"And do you have any idea where he might be?"

"The cemetery. Jaques said Erik had requested to be driven to the cemetery, and that he had asked to be left alone. And so Jaques drove back to fetch me. I have not been just yet...I feel like I need you with me."

"Of course, I will be there for you. You must not be so worried, my dear. Erik can take care of himself."

"I know, Mama...I just..."

"I know." We are silent as we pull through the cemetery gates. I see I was correct in assuming Raoul had come here from the auction, for he is standing, yes, standing, at his late wife's grave. I see he has placed the music box there, but he is staring at something else. Taking a deep breath, I steer Meg in that direction. "Pardon me, Monsieur...my apologies for disturbing you, but my daughter and I were wondering if you have seen..."

"He was here..." Raoul's voice is hoarse, just above a whisper, but he points a shaky finger at the ground beside Christine's gravestone. I gasp. Erik has left one of his signature roses tied in a black ribbon. But there is something else. A diamond ring surrounds the stem at the ribbon. It is the very same ring that was Raoul's first engagement ring to Christine. The one Erik stole off of her neck. He has kept it all these years, a constant reminder of the love that was never meant to be. But there is something even more...beneath the rose is an envelope. I bend down and pick it up, wondering if it would be right to open it. But perhaps inside is a clue to his whereabouts. Slowly, I break the wax seal, noting that it is not his infamous red skull, but instead a black rose. I look to Meg, who nods in approval. Slowly, I pull out the paper and read it.

"_To my dearest pupil Christine,_

_ I cannot put this off any longer. It pains me that I could not be present at your funeral, but I doubt I would have been welcome. I have been debating what I want to say to you now. I had hoped that my death would come first, just so I could avoid having to say good bye. While I do love my wife very much, you have and always will hold a special place in my heart. I remember the first time you pulled off my mask. I was so mad at you then. We both weren't ready for you to see my face. And yet, after I scolded you, a great part of me longed for you to wrap your arms around me, for you to tell me that everything would be okay. Instead, you gave me back my mask. That very action should have told me to end everything then and there. Such an action only showed that you were just not ready to see who I really am. Instead, I drove you further and further away, hurting everyone and everything around me in the process. I am sorry for all of this. Even sorrier that I must apologize this way._

_ Good bye, Christine. May your eternity be much brighter than my own. You deserve it._

_ Your teacher,_

_ Erik."_

A scream causes me to lift my teary eyes from the page. Meg is just now throwing herself onto the ground behind the gravestone. I feel my heart sink and a lump form in my throat. I replace the note to it's initial spot and join my daughter.

**A/N: I tried not to have Erik ramble in his note. That was not his style. However, if it does seem like he's rambling, keep in mind that this was his final note. To Christine. As a very old man, which means he could have changed slightly. Also, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but from what I recall from the movie, the black and white scenes are from 1919, and Chrstine died in 1917? Or were they both 1917? Other feedback welcome!**


End file.
